BLOOD: The Last Vampire
by NotedStrangePerson
Summary: No Hagi, no Chevaliers, no Diva. Before Saya had a family, she had a cold, cold heart. A narrative of the movie
1. Blood on the Tracks

_A pure narrative of the movie. I'm not sure how many people do this - I wrote it more to practice my writing skills rather than a fanfic. Needless to say –_

_spoilers! spoilers! spoilers!_

**BLOOD**

**The Last Vampire**

Before she was reduced to the sickly-sweet emo Buffy look-a-like we all know and love, Saya was a cold, hard, cruel femme fatale. This is her back when she was bad-ass:

Disclaimer: BLOOD: The Last Vampire © Manga Entertainment & Production IG/ IG Plus

In other words not me

Chapter 1

Blood on the Tracks

The phone rang.

Piercing the sound of even the oncoming train a man, a young looking man in his crisp navy blue jacket except for balding on top answered it as the whistle blew behind him, followed by a siren-like blare. He seemed surprised, behind his office window, by what the caller said.

The train squealed to a sighing halt as the bright red doors parted and the masses emptied, people coming home from work. A bored-sounding voice said "Please take all your belongings with you." The lights overhead glowed faintly green. "This will be the last train going to Asakusa."

Behind the dark coats leaving their seats sat a melancholy adolescent with a bored expression on her face, staring at nothing on the ground. Despite the long sheathed case used to transport, they don't know what, which she held tightly at her right side, she was easy to ignore. This said, it was odd to see someone her age travelling this late alone.

Behind them another train passed straight through the station.

The train guard, his coat as blue as the one who answered the phone, blew his whistle. The doors shut less smoothly than they had opened as the hydraulic breaks heaved and the train blared its horn once again and with a diminishing echo left the station.

Whole carriages seemed to thunder as it passed through the tunnels of the underground. She could feel the floor move beneath her feet. The lights shone against the polish.

There were only two passengers left. Her, and an unremarkable man, flopped lazily on the other side of the carriage, right next to the door. Lights passed outside the windows like fireflies.

Her head turned to face him.

The noise of the train was no more than a dull roar. The emptiness was chilling.

His arm was draped over the metal pole sticking out the wall, again, next to the door. His burgundy tie hardly stood out against his deep brown clothes, the same colour as his hair. Everything about him looked dishevelled, even the skin sinking into his cheeks looked washed out.

The girl watched him with a predator's gaze.

Outside the trained bored over the rails like a giant millipede with laser-red eyes, guided by the eerily green lights surrounding it. Wheels grated smoothly over metal. There was something dank about the empty tracks before it, like filming a cave with night-vision goggles. Stains ran down the walls where there was no point in cleaning. The horn blared.

The hand bars shivered. Everything inside was new and clean, without the grubbiness through which it travelled. The girls held onto her cover before the man opened one eye, as if he knew all along she was watching him. Their eye contact was unnerving.

Bars flashed as headlights spilled over them and the train's incessant noise turned into one harsh, low breath. Even they seemed to shake. White light covered the railing and the noise increased, inhaling before the lunge, until furious sparks leapt and smothered them in darkness. They seemed to shriek as it did so.

The lights in the first carriage buzzed and went off.

Then the other with a clunk.

Then the other.

Then theirs.

The girl with a scowl on her face sprung up with dangerous fervour and raced towards the other passenger; eyes white with fear he suddenly stood with his mouth agape at the person coming quickly towards him. The fireflies made her seem closer than she really was and her braids flew out behind her.

Desperate he clambered towards the back door and scrambled at the lock, oblivious to the rattling train; over his shoulder she raced straight towards him. He almost had the door open.

The girl opened her sheath, heard the scrape of the blade without taking her eyes off him and with both hands gripping the handle and a hot yellow light behind her stared right into the eyes of the terrified man, and with the sickening noise of metal striking flesh, cut him down.

The pain made him fling his head back. Then he slid slowly to the floor. The girl regarded him with contempt, as though she were watching him from behind the exit.

The train, unabashed by what had just happened inside, carried on rattling. With a dizzy flash the lights quickly returned, lighting up down the capsules in an orderly fashion.

She picked up the bloodied piece of paper she accidentally dropped and scrunched it in her hand. The thick black coat she wore – many sizes too big – over her pale lilac trousers and thick orange turtleneck, had deep pockets she could lose stuff in.

"We will be stopping in Asakusa shortly."

Her face was bland and unemotional, not with a disregard for what she had done but the same preoccupied look she'd had all day.

On the glass were the tiniest specks of blood.

"This will be the final stop."

A single white eye shone as train slowly pulled into the final station; it looked like all the others. There the guard, who looked just like all the others, stood waiting patiently. It breathed one last end-of-the-day breath and the last of the weary mean disembarked the 2119. The far older conductor asked the driver off as the younger man slipped a clipboard under his arm.

Unlike every other person there who headed towards the stairs of light, out of one rudely shoving one of the ex-passengers, ran a white man and a Negroid. They stood out from the rabble of people heading home and could not afford to attract attention. But no-one cared.

Checking the black man was behind him the other sped past the happy posters of children on spotless tiled walls and briefly peered into the each of the automatic doors.

He spotted her leave the one close to the front.

"Saya!"

Without time to waste they sprinted towards the unnoticeable figure, who stayed near first carriages where people rarely sat.

"Where is the Chiropterid?" asked the Negroid curtly.

Her voice was soft and dreary "Inside." She indicated the direction with her eyes, still keeping watch on him after death as he ran in with nervous haste.

She looked up from her collar.

"The sword's getting dull. It's not sliding out of the sheath as smoothly as it should. Get me a new one now."

Saya's voice is also dull. It has the slow commanding of someone who has had their wishes voiced too many times and has lost the edge given by fear or hatred. It was towards the white man she spoke – the iron-grey hair which decreased further and further back over his forehead was slicked down smooth, and the lines that carved his protruding cheekbones of faintly tallow weather beaten skin formed wrinkles above his brow ridges made him appear older than he really was. His chin was strong and the bridge of his nose was straight and flat. Just like everyone else on the train he was wearing a suit of not-quite black and a tie the same colour as her victims', yet from this intimidating sight, to whom she reached only up to his chest, came an apologetic voice.

"I'm afraid that's not possible." His voice echoed around the walls as he reached into his inside pocket. "We don't have time right now, because we just identified another one of them." He handed the papers to her. "Swords of that quality are not so easy to get."

The black man looked around the compartment, confused at first that he didn't immediately see a mess on the seats or floor. Then he spotted the faint bloodstains shining on the metal strip, seeping from underneath the door. It had not yet stained the rest of the ground.

Fists tightly clenched she strode and regarded the blood with distaste, taking out a camera from his back pocket. Perspiration gathered on his temples as he steeled himself for the gore. With his camera already poised to his face he slid back the door and was confronted with the mangled carcass he had expected, shoved cruelly between the two boxes, but it made his recoil in disgust. He panicked inside.

"What the – ?"

He turned towards the door.

"This isn't a cheropterid! Did we get the wrong guy?" he yelled much too loudly, for the echoes carried

The white man waited patiently while she read the notes. "It just hasn't changed its form yet Lewis. Now just shuddup."

The report even made Saya's eye widen slightly. Something behind them clicked and darted towards him accusingly.

"Wait a minute. Isn't this supposed to be within your jurisdiction?"

Lewis leaded out the window, sweating freely as he twisted his neck with angry eyes.

"That's a regular _human_ corpse in there!"

"I've already checked out all the military personnel as well as all the civilian employees involved." He replied with a flick of his lapels and digging into his other pocket. But he was not talking to Lewis.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked innocently enough, showing him the slanderous papers.

"Hey! David!"

"They've infiltrated the general public."

Her voice was suspicious now. "You're telling me to _investigate_ this . . . ?"

"Dave!" He stood back on the platform, flinging his hands in frustration. "Take a look inside! Hey!"

David grunted with his hand on his hip. "Save it!"

Then Lewis, inexperienced, did something stupid. He looked up to the heavens and smacked his hands over his eyes:

"Oh Jesus . . ."

David gasped.

He could hear the crunch of Saya's fingers gripping his cheeks with vicious speed and strength – enough to make his eyes open, toes dance on the ground as she lifted him up into the air and hear the groans trying to escape. Lewis gripped onto her unflinching arm – partially out of fear of falling, partially out of fear from this unnatural force. Even as he crushed the fabric and flesh she gripped him tighter and tighter until his eyes scrunched up and he couldn't breathe. Lewis was a big man, as big as David with the heavy features of his race, thick lips, square chin, black bushy hair and bulbous nose; his body was a thick-set as his face and was built like a boxer. A car couldn't knock him down.

"Wait! Saya! Get a hold of yourself, now!" David suppressed the instinct to grab her shoulders.

Her eyes bright was brutality flicker to the source before the rest of her and ignores the struggling man caught I her hands. When irked the furrows between those eyes deepened.

"Not the same thing again. Do you want to announce it to the _whole world_!"

"I can't do anything about it." He tried to reason with her before Lewis choked. Now he had beads dotted on his nose and temples as the panic crept up. "You know the way it is by now. The orders from the top are to hunt them down no matter _what_." Lewis' muffled grunts struggled in her grasp. "I really don't know _anything_!"

Saya let him go, threw him away like something disgusting. Lewis panted heavily as tenderly touched both his cheeks, still cringing and bent over in pain. Saya watched him as she did the man in the train.

David's voice suggested nothing wayward had happened.

"It's all in there and it's arranged accordingly."

Lewis stared back at the girl with newfound anxiety, checking his fingers for blood.

"You can go tomorrow." He carried on. "I'll have your school uniform and ID ready in the locker by then."

His voice fell on deaf ears as she still stared at the injured Lewis. "You'd better read through the files carefully. We know there's more than one of – hey!"

Saya started to leave.

"Hey! Saya!"

As the girl walked out, still clutching the sword sheath though it was strapped safely to her shoulder she threw the papers in the bin harder than she needed to so that they made a flapping noise as cut the air.

"Shit!" He sprinted again as Lewis looked on with confusion. Digging them out like a tramp looking for food, no more than 30 feet away the girl didn't look back to see is the vital reports were safe.

David looked up just in time to see her walk out the door and her shadow gradually sink against the grubby metal door with each step.

Lewis still rubbed his face. "What the hell was that all about?"

David scrutinized the papers angrily and gritted his teeth while Lewis loosened his shoulders.

"You asshole!"

He turned and pounded him in the shoulder hard enough so the black man almost fell to the ground and those vital papers scattered everywhere.

He sprung up "What did I do?"

The senior commandant gripped his partner firmly by the collar and shook him to the white in his eyes showed. "Don't _ever_ piss her off again!" he growled.

"But –"

"Listen!" rivulets of sweat were steaming down his forehead, his hands shook as he spoke. "As far as we know, she's the only remaining _original_!"

Lewis looked at him with the same ambiguous amazement he had for Saya.

"Original?" he repeated quietly.

He gazed at the door she had left through with the slightest hint of fear in his eyes.

_Yeah I know, long innit? And I'm only 6 minutes 19 seconds through the movie._

_Please R&R, so I know all that finger-cracking typing wasn't in vain. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

**BLOOD**

**The Last Vampire**

_Awesome! I got some reviews! If I'm lucky the more I write, the more I'll get! Praise! Glory! Fame! C'mon people, let's see some worshippin' here!_

Disclaimer: BLOOD: The Last Vampire © Manga Entertainment & Production IG/ IG Plus

All you plagiarism lawyers can go fuck yourselves.

Chapter 2

The threat of war looming over East and the October weather cast a dark cloud over the city. The air was thick with haze and moisture, blurring the surrounding buildings like smoke and casting halos over the street lamps. Rain left the roads slick. Some unknown source growled the engines of cars, driving anonymously between matchsticks of tarmac.

Far from the station, sword still clutched, the girl walked through a desolate area of the town, where the shops were shut and police sirens rang. Papers stuck to the notice board were dripping and white paint faded on the metal sheet of closed doors. Lights shone in her face, growing then blinding against the corrugated iron, as an empty taxi rushed by.

Saya had the collar of her coat pinched right up to her nose, burying her face in the fabric. Her feet made very little noise as she walked. Behind her a red light shone.

The water was still dripping when they arrived on the scene. Much noise there was outside, but in there only the tiny yet reverberating _bloip!_ of just another drop of water in the bucket could hold the emptiness of the bathroom. The water rippled as it fell.

The first flash caught the bloodstains, still sticky, circling round the drains, staining between the tiles.

The second flash saw the kitchen knife, new, sharp and decorated, sitting amongst swirls of more blood.

The third snapped the arm, hanging limply over the side of the bath, the fingers slightly curved with blackening fingernails and redness veining between the grooves of her palm. Streaks and drips of spatter smeared against the yellowing bathroom tiles. As he examined the limb, he made sure to capture the grisly chunk sawn out, just above the wrist bone. If he looked carefully, he could see the faint greyish outline around the skin, where already the flesh started to decompose.

Finally, he photographed the dead girls' face. She seemed young – her skin was not battered, the eyebrows were high and neatly plucked, as if she had drawn them there, the lips were full and slightly parted, and there was only a slight amount of fat under her jaw line, the beginnings of a double-chin perhaps. Her eyes were large and blue, now staring forever towards the wall. She could not have been on the job long – probably couldn't handle it. She looked more like a puppy that been put to sleep, rather than someone who had bled to death.

The camera flashed once more, making a quiet flicking sound. The bathroom was tiny; the bath itself took up more than half the space. Combined with the two investigators and the coverboards there was hardly enough room to call it a crime scene. The photographer, wearing an inappropriate baseball cap on backwards checked his camera one more time without taking a backwards glance at the woman. She had somehow managed to squeeze herself into the square, efficient bathroom with one shade of stained yellow all around the floor, walls and ceilings, each with many little chips taken out of it. Her dark hair was wet and streaked itself across her face like roots. Two locks still remained snaking over her breasts. By the looks of it she had simply stripped – not caring how they found her – sat in the bath, legs folded up, and ended it all slumped almost peacefully against the edge.

The other investigator had the decency to but his cap on forwards, being careful not to slip on the blood.

Outside three police cars swung their lights around the houses. Like the house itself the area was cramped an unfriendly. During the great economic overhaul of the 60s, the largest urban development project in history, woodlands were scraped away and replaced not by charming individual houses by with small, mean, entirely practical dwellings, with neon signs down every building. Even the sky seemed unhappy. With no trees to soak it up, rain drenched the district without washing it clean. Naturally the entire sect was Japanese.

One police car moved away. It wasn't needed. Umbrellas up, people chatted away at the animation. Somewhere a cricket chirruped.

A woman – perhaps her mother, she had large greying bushy hair tied back and pearl earrings, was crying in one of the police cars. Understandably. She'd been given a handkerchief to stifle her tears.

"So the tap was still running when you found her?"

She sobbed and kept nodding.

The police officer, younger than she, was less than sympathetic, with his arm resting casually over the seat. His face was square and flat and he wore thick-rimmed classes under his smart cap.

"Calm down. You don't have to cry."

She tried sniffing and wiping her eyes. The officer had seen too many of these.

Another policeman was questioning the neighbours. A man leaned against his doorway with his arms folded and a cynical look on his face.

"I'm not too sure," he sighed. "But I heard Mari was going out with an American solider." By the look on his face he had seen enough of these to stop caring too.

Elsewhere other businesses were still going despite the excitement. Next to the whores stood a nasty little black man with his shoulders hunched. He looked like his bald head had been transplanted onto a 12-year old. The women next to the pink Pub Lounge sign took a long drag of her cigarette. She was pretty ugly too.

A prettier woman came up:

"Mari from Charade's committed suicide."

"Stupid girl," said the fag queen. The cigarettes took all the flesh out of her face and strapped her skin against the elongated frame of her skeleton. "She didn't have to kill herself."

"Maybe she got the "clap"." sniggered the nasty little man.

The other woman gave him a cynical look. Her eyes were too far apart and the blush only emphasized her protruding cheekbones.

"You can't get upset over a minor thing if you're doing work with American soldiers." Said the smoker with her thin lips.

"Did you hear about the suicide at the base school last month?" the woman with odd hair – very straight and down to her eyebrows on her head, but incredibly bushy behind her neck – looked like she's just remembered.

Her male 'friend' replied. "There seem to be a lot of them lately."

The gossipy one with large breasts and neatly combed blonde hair raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, everybody's really uptight about it." She said snidely from under the umbrella.

"How terrible." Bushy looked up to the sky and ruffled her coat. Everything about her was overdressed, the faux fur-lined jacket was striped, though under the half-hearted light it was hard to tell what colour, she wore red pearls and blue earrings; even with her profession it seemed entirely wrong. She shook her head a little. "I hope this doesn't affect business."

A plane was approaching.

"It can't be helped if we're going to make a living off the base."

"Huh?" she strained to hear.

Wearing that horrible rag that barely covered her hair it was surprising she could hear anything at all either. "It can't be helped if we're going to make a living off the base – !"

Even the police looked up.

The plane was huge, the sort used to carry large military equipment like tanks, with four propellers on each wing bellowing, buzzing over the town. Like a great bird it flew beyond the barbed wire and fencing and grubbiness of the buildings around it into American ground. On one of the fences a sign warned people not to enter, but the only words they saw, those with real significance, were "WAR", "United States" and "Restrict."

Saya, in her new clothes, watched the plane touchdown with a faint roar on safe turf. There was something ominous about everything that went inside there.

She turned back to her window outside the Antique & Gift shop. A truck sped behind her, but she didn't seem to notice it, nor did she notice the American soldier was standing outside the other window a few feet away.

The shop was owned by a small rat-faced man in glasses with a cigarette hanging from his lips, reading the newspaper. He looked like he'd accidentally dressed himself in his son's clothing. Strange to imagine that such a weedy man could own so many wonderful things. In the angle of the light she found it difficult to see past her own reflection. Something caught her eye.

If she moved passed the door she could see it better. Beyond the gramophone, in a glass case with a bowl resting on it, would have been the perfect gift. Another car sped past in the window.

A sword and a dagger, resting peacefully on their stands. The smooth leather sheaths were still bound with black tape. All the gold about it, the handle, the decorations on the stands, depicted beautifully the trees and animals and stars of ancient Japan. The handles were tightly stitched and would have felt smooth in her hands. Even the label hanging from the sword was written in Japanese.

But the sign said "Not For Sale" in English.

Suddenly aware of something looking towards him the rat-man flinched are tried to fix the perpetrator with a leer.

But she was aware of him too and very quickly was gone.

Unlike the cold dreariness mere hours before the sun shot down mercilessly on the city, cutting dark shadows against the ground. The roads were coming alive with more and more cars speeding carelessly against that fence, beyond which lied the base.

Against the blaze of light, Saya would have appeared very small.

Cars moved freely in and out the barriers, despite all the stop signs and speed restrictions. Just as one rose to let a large green truck out another lowered to inspect the small yellow car. It needn't – it was only her. The military man waved his resister to allow the barrier the raise itself. There was another car right behind her.

She looked nice. She also looked for her parking space, wedged between two other cars, one black one green, right next to the _Yokota High School_ entrance. The school itself looked a bit slap-dash, everything seemed to be made of wood and the signs were painted on. Still, the surrounding grass, trees and bushes added a touch of green to an otherwise grey city block known as Yokota.

Two older American students cheerfully greeted her as she left the car, not saying how odd she looked in a suit and bright red bow tie.

"Hi!"

"Hi." She quite liked them.

Despite the rustic outside inside was no-more well-built than any other place here. The walls too were chipped and the lights glowed greenish. But there were posters, bright happy posters, in that short corridor alone over five. All of them had _Halloween Costume Contests_ and _Come to the Halloween Dance Party_ and drawings of smiling pumpkins and haunted houses found only in Scooby-Doo

Saya walked silently and close to the lockers, either ignoring or not noticing the agitated stares of other students. They did not stop in their tracks to turn and look but found their eyes inadvertently drawn towards her, making them strangely nervous. Even the boy putting up yet another poster stopped and listened, though she made no sound. They were all American.

Inside the classrooms several students sat chatting to each other with pumpkins and half-donned clothes. There was a large American flags hanging from a pole from the floor.

"Hi." He waved.

"Hi."

She clipped on her pass as the left her office, looking much more at home in a white coat that suited her tubby frame. She also noticed, almost instinctively something different and looked up.

She was pale, even for a Japanese girl. Her eyes had also lost the distinctive slant of her race, but her small well-fleshed nose and thick lips were correct. Her hair even, seemed weighed down by something, her fringe hung in thick tendrils and tapped against her forehead when she walked. It seemed wet, shining lightly and clinging like fingers towards her face, but no her hair was definitely dry.

"Young lady . . ."

She ignored her. Perhaps she couldn't speak English.

But she turned. The look on her face contrasted harshly against yet more playful pictures surrounded white tinsel.

She tried another approach. Perhaps she would feel more comfortable hearing her native tongue. "Aren't you Japanese? You are not a student here, are you?"

Martha Caroline Auror. ID No. HP-5672-12T. School Nurse. Her greenish laminated tag shone smartly against her crisp white jacket.

But Saya was staring at her silver necklace.

"Did you pass through the office?"

She shot her a look of contempt – one eye dazzling in the bright light; the other concealed by shadow, and carried on her way.

Given the sweetness of the other students she was surprised. "Hey, hold on a second."

She stopped. "Where is the Principle's office?"

"Huh?"

After an age of waiting there was finally a knock at the door.

The English-speaking Principle took his little square spectacles off.

"Come in."

The nurse opened the door for her, ready to introduce her. "Sir, this young lady here – "

"Ah, Saya, you're late."

The stranger who'd been sitting anxiously for 10 minutes suddenly stood up as she entered the doorway, spreading his arm out. "I want you to say hello to the Principle."

The Head Teacher was a fat man with small tired brown eyes, sitting quietly behind his massive desk. His office was as large as a classroom and where the walls weren't covered in bookcases they were painted yet again green. The pictures framed were all of certificates, school photos, trophies, the flag of USA and other works of self-grandiose. Behind him stood to large windows, reaching from floor to ceiling, the fierce glare of the sun turned into a thick glow behind the lace.

The Principle himself wore a coffee-coloured suit over a brown jacket and white shirt with a starched collar. He too wore a bow tie, more like a ribbon given out at dog shows than a fashionable accessory. But what was so striking about him was his hair – it looked ridiculous. It was huge and puffy up front with streaks of brunette in an otherwise grey afro. He looked like he hadn't been off his seat for 30 years.

Saya said nothing but nodded.

"Hello. And you do speak English?" he said from under his tiny moustache.

"Of course." David answered for her.

He was in no mood for introductions. He had work to do. "Well then, you can go see some classes this afternoon." He locked his fingers and scrunched up his beady little eyes in a way that was suppose to be a smile. "But with the Halloween Party coming up I'm afraid we may not get much work done, eh-heh."

David smiled politely and nodded a little. "Thank you very much for your help. Goodbye."

He quickly turned away. Saya opened the door with a click and walked out as David put his hand on her shoulder.

The nurse had been uncomfortable throughout the whole thing.

"Who was that girl?" she asked as soon as the door closed.

"She came on an introduction. She wants to participate in classes for a few days." He replied flatly, putting his specs back on, pen in hand.

"Um, excuse me . . ."

"Huh?"

She walked up shyly to his desk. "About the party tomorrow?" asked a quiet voice.

"Not that again. I thought we were over _that _by now." He replied brusquely.

"Yes sir. But it hasn't been long since the terrible incident. And I'm not sure the students have recovered from the death of their friend – "

"That's why we're having this party." He tapped his pen angrily, resting his fist on one of his wobbling jowls as he gave her a cock-eyed look. "I've had _enough_ of this. Now get back to work!"

The sweet-natured maternal nurse could only look down in shame. Like a student who'd been told off.

_Yes I know, boring chapter. Still the movie is only 45 minutes long and 30 minutes are spent building atmosphere. Don't worry – I'll still be as gory as I can possibly be._


	3. The Feast of Samhain

BLOOD

The Last Vampire

_If you're still interested in the movie but can't be arsed to read all this, here's a quicker summery BLOOD: The Last Vampire © Manga Entertainment & Production IG/ IG Plus_

If I owned it Hagi would have been busy screwing Saya from the very start.

Chapter 3

The Feast of Samhain

Compared to the buildings within the base, the children were cheerful, clean, chatty and happy. Everything was grey and crumbling, painting fading into the cracks and rust eating the supporting poles. The only life outside the pupils was the weeds sprouting between the concrete. David and Saya blended perfectly into their murky surroundings; no-one noticed them.

Despite everything the sun managed to shine. They hid themselves in the shadows, strolling casually.

Saya picked the tip of her red sailors tie with distain.

"What the hell is this outfit?"

"I'm not sure. It's supposed to be a Japanese high school uniform." answered David, one hand in his pocket. Her clothes looked too cutesy, like a dressed up doll. She looked for all the world to being escorted to the Principle's offices, accompanied by a stern-looking man, whose shoulder she barely came up to. Saya stared straight forward.

"At any rate, another one of those fake corpses was found here last night, and it's the same pattern."

Saya's voice was soft and low.

"It's happening awfully fast . . ."

His eyes gazed down at her. "I told you there was more than one of them – and," he swiftly added. "We'll never find them once they go into hibernation. We've got to find them before we get another corpse on our hands."

Saya's face always points down but her eyes gaze straight forward, with thin eyebrows and an unsmiling face like she's penetrating into the mind of whomever so looks at her. Her ears are slightly pointed.

"You just listen for them."

Her eyes blinked and focused on David.

"And get the sword."

"I know." He scratched the back of his head, his voice a slow sigh. "I know . . ."

In the blurred sunlight under smog purple clouds the whirring of the jet engines rose into a steady roar like a pain as the yellow weather sock flapped hither and thither in the distance. The air was gritty and the paint soiled. In the hazy heat a plane rose from the ground as if lifted by invisible hands, making the air about it tremble with noise. Its extra wheels tucked neatly under its wings.

In the half-gloom half-light a solider jogged briskly round the perimeter of the fence.

The plane flew over Yokota High School like a bird, a magpie perhaps, heading towards its nest, but with an unnatural smoothness and sound.

Light cut through the inside through the squares of window panes. Shadows of trees stretched like fingers to the walls. The noise made the glass rattle.

Inside the nice well-behaved students sat patiently, even though it was nearly the end of the lesson, while the fat balding teacher, his braces stretching, wrote on the blackboard straight from the book. The chalk tapped loudly as he wrote. Everyone was patient. Nobody whispered or passed notes. They were learning about Frankenstein.

Right on time the bell rang.

The fat man snapped his book shut and turned towards the class, he had a double chin and thick glasses too. His tie was clipped to his ample stomach so it didn't hang lazily when he leaned forward.

"All right, that's it for today. Tomorrow we'll have morning classes only."

Everyone cheered and whooped – one guy even leapt out of his seat, another gave the thumbs up – they were all neat and wearing their own clothes and had the glitter of life in their eyes.

In the further corner of the room Saya sat in the shaft of sunlight.

"Wait a minute I'm not through yet," he read from the notice. "Those of you in charge of getting things ready for the dance meet in the assembly hall, the rest of you can stay in the classroom and get ready for the party if you –"

Saya had been seated next to a girl with short, straight reddish-brown hair held in a red Alice band, to match her red top. She packed her books up neatly and turned to her, blue eyes lit up and polite enough not to talk through lessons.

"Hey, are you Japanese?" she asked, leaning forward eagerly.

No answer.

She didn't understand, maybe. "Be home by six or old Pumpkinhead will get you." The teacher rattled on.

"Conichiwa." She smiled brightly.

The Japanese girl's head turned.

"Leave me alone."

And stared forward again. Like a zombie.

The brunette pulled herself back with a shrug. "Weirdo." He eyes darted sideways for a moment before she rose. "C'mon Linda, let's go."

Linda was a washed-out looking girl with near-white hair like mop rope, whose face never left the table. Her top was green like an overall, and when she looked up at Saya she had the eyes of someone much older, lined with wrinkles she shouldn't have. Her hair abruptly stopped at her armpits, unlike her friend's whose waved about her neck and well above her shoulders. Even her eye irises were grey. She stared at the Japanese girl for a hard moment, before her face was drawn back to the floor, like she knew there was something to despair.

Were it not for the barricades the school might have been somewhere in the country. The blare of motors overhead was as familiar as cows lowing and birds chirping. And the grass was always green.

The students in their sensible pullovers and short haircuts chatted to each other between the wails of planes, under the zigzag of power lines. The carried party supplies without complaint – boxes full of wrapping paper.

Chores rattled as he clean-cut banners were hung, without creasing, without dipping: OCT. 31 HALLOWEEN PARTY OPEN HOUSE 4:00. Even the boys mucked about in their witches hats as their friends boarded the heavily-armoured Shuttle Bus.

So inside was empty.

Without the lights on darkness quickly stole the corridors, cringing away from the light gleaming on the doors and lockers. Banners hung across the wall, pumpkins sat here and there grinning at no one, the witch's hat sat waiting on the table. Posters were everywhere. Voices chattered outside.

The classrooms were deserted, desks and chairs out of line but freshly polished. The birds were singing.

Tinsel edged the signs down every corridor, white and blue sparkling tinsel. Above the cuts of light.

The biggest sign had a little bat hanging from the "O" in HALOWEEN, though the top sagged a little.

Lots of different pumpkin faces, some happy, some sad, some angry, some goofy, all good, were pasted on the walls with their creators names written next to them on black paper.

The skeleton, between the bat and the ghost seemed to glow in the sun. The hands were so detailed. There was even a crack in his skull.

In the darkest spot were only the green light faintly glowed, behind the book shelves and the rows of desks, stood Saya in the Information Center. She was looking through the file cabinets.

Her face was dull, not expecting anything.

Her fingers flicked through the neatly arranged student's files like spiders. Stopping, then scurrying.

She knew what she wanted, and closed the file door without the heavy slam, or checking to see if no one was around. She is still holding her sword sheath. The clock read five to five.

As she walked down that same corridor the nurse saw her this morning she passed by sickbay and noticed the door was open.

Instinctively she drew back, without taking her eyes out of the room. A moment or two, then she went in.

The curtains were perfect white and floated gently by the open window, the frocks of ghosts. Against the purity of white curtains, white beds, a white screen and soft azure skies, Saya looked very dark, engulfed by shadow.

She stopped in the middle of the room, were the grimy hidden side of the medicine cabinet and the radiance of the crisp linen met, on the shine on the floor like a greasy puddle. There was an eeriness about that spot.

The wind hissed a little. Then a little more.

Alone standing in that room the emptiness became all-consuming. Regarding her like a totem.

_Sniff_. Saya's nostrils flared. _Sniff, sniff_.

It was on the floor right next to her.

She bent down to feel it. It was between the tiles, just below where four corners met.

She drew her index finger along it. The emptiness quivered.

She stared at it long and hard, and the emptiness shook.

_Could you imagine then, having your nose so close to the floor, that all you can see is the brief violent shadow of a human, then something not quite human quickly snatching it, and the smell of the blood droplets quickly fall and spatter inches away from your face?_

With two fingers she caressed the gouge between the tiles that were cracked and chipped, despite looking so clean. It would have been difficult to see her face in the murkiness.

"So, this is their "dining room", then." She said to herself.

She heard someone coming.

Clip-clops quickly headed towards these tiled floors.

She stood up quickly and gripped the end of her holster, eyes cast, head low, waiting.

The shadow appeared in the doorway. She took the top off the sheath, eyes unblinking.

Here it comes –

The nurse was so shocked she squeaked and dropped her papers.

She stood there for a second, breathing deep.

"Oh you scared me." Luckily she new Japanese well. She picked her files from the floor. "What were you doing here?"

Saya's other hand was now waiting patiently by her side. She didn't look down.

"Nothing. I thought I had a headache. But it's gone now."

She headed stiffly out the door. She'd already collected most of her papers. It was now 5:28pm.

"Oh. Wait!"

Saya ignored her as she fumbled with more files trying to escape.

"Hold on a minute!"

But her footsteps and the door opening, and closing, were already gone by the time she put her head round the door.

She peered a little at the large doors with EXIT marked above them, feeling strangely despondent, regardless of the papers.

The sky turned purple. The lights inside were bright yellow.

_I know, I know, I haven't updated for ages. This time I have an excuse. I was busy. My ISP changed and I couldn't get onto the bloody internet for ages. My house burned down. I'm lazy. I got drunk too often and killed by brain cells._

_At least four of those are true._


	4. Improv

BLOOD

The Last Vampire

WARNING:

This is a long chapter. Very long. Better get your sleeping bag and move the computer into the bathroom.

Disclaimer: BLOOD: The Last Vampire © Manga Entertainment & Production IG/ IG Plus

I'm doin' all the work for nuthin' bub.

Chapter 4

Improv

So quickly had the sky turned from royal purple into a swamp-like green, with noxious torn clouds hanging in the air. The city below had a burning white and red glow, trapped behind the wire fence that had been there so long the ivy had made it its home. High up in the sky a single red eye blinked as it shot down smoothly towards earth. Still it roared.

But that was last night.

Overhead the school was safe, a ceremonial band played jaunty tunes that bounced and greeted their ears, outside the entire highway was empty. Except for one little plane. It looked like an ant.

The dumpy man in the hat – the one like in The Cat in the Hat – led all the kids in costume safely across the runway. Most of them just had on ling smocks while others had wigs.

More and more of them gathered, greeting their mummies and daddies; that little boy cleverly made his baseball cap into a mask, one girl came dressed as a fairy, the other as a knight, one very small boy dressed as some kind of animal, waving so everyone could see the star on his chest. One came as a pirate, at least two came as witches (looking very different of course) and the ghost held his pumpkin tightly.

Air traffic control directed the plane away from the children.

One of the photographers squatting between the children and their adoring parents let the young girl wave at him. The soldiers far away from them tied his shoes tightly as he prepared to board the back of the truck.

Still with his wand waving in circles the traffic controlled guided the black-nosed plane smoothly, one hand over his earmuff.

The young women waved happily at her daughter while her husband adjusted the lens. He managed to get one with the little black girl in the fairy costume smiling and giggling with the little white witch.

Grim Reapers and organisers swept through the halls, humans changed into witches and wizards in the locker rooms.

Inside the American soldiers in their green berets and uniforms quickly organised the concert hall, with the flag hanging down one wall. There was a grand piano, a drum kit, a cello case, dozens of stands and still so much stuff left to unpack.

Another which greeted pumpkin-head with a scythe, outside the concert hall was glowing gold while the crickets chirped.

Saya walked steadily towards the stairs in her uniform. With her presence the ravens cawed. The Jesters did not see her.

Mechanically she walked up the stairs inside, and the unease they felt as she walked by them on that first day seemed to have vanished, her essence eaten by the shadows in the corridor or replaced by them knowing she was stuck-up.

The bell rang.

That same fat teacher, the one with stubble on both his chins and a few short strands of ginger hair growing from his scalp like the weed in the pavement, looked at his watch. Ten to five.

"Come on, the band's going to start any minute now."

The short-haired girl and Linda walked up to his desk as he tapped this notes.

"Sir?" She asked with her squeaky voice.

"What is it Sharon? Aren't you going to put on your costumes, what's the matter?"

Sharon's eyes appeared darker today. That purple sky. "Linda told me that she's not feeling very well," Linda blinked. "It might be her anaemia again."

Saya heard that just as she was about to walk into the classroom. She stopped and pressed her back against the wall, listening with a keen ear.

"I thought I'd go with her to the infirmary."

Saya arched her neck so she could hear better.

"Again? Well OK. You don't need me do you?"

"No sir."

"Well, why don't you join us when you feel better? You girls be careful now."

"OK."

She was gone before they came out of the room.

Sharon's skirt was almost up to her bottom, Linda's down past her knees. Sharon walks briskly while she trails behind. Sharon was the talker.

She looked at her with cat's eyes.

"Are you OK?"

Linda never says anything.

"It won't be too long." She whispered.

The band was tuning up. Even their practice sounds cheerful, mostly the wind instruments.

One of the tall nerdy-looking men in glasses had managed to score with a lady from the east, but Pumpkinhead's mask was no where as good as the zombie's.

They gathered in the concert hall. The conduct stood on the stage as the crowd's voice silenced.

They even lit a pumpkin in the sickbay, lighting the match in one stroke. The nurse admired the face that didn't mind having a candle in it's head as she waved the extra long lighter out

She turned it around so it was facing Linda.

"I'd like to take it easy once and a while, especially on a day like this."

Her voice was soft and reassuring. She walked over to the medicine cabinet. Linda lay there listlessly, eyes half closed. She said nothing.

Sharon was sitting quietly on the chair to one side.

"This isn't a very fun way to spend Halloween now is it?"

Sharon didn't answer.

She looked at first, slightly bemused, then smiled.

"Don't worry, it's only minor anaemia." She rummaged through the bottles. "She should feel better any minute." The door slid open with a small thud. "You should really try not to worry too much –"

Without pulling or pushing herself up Linda rose in one swift movement, like those raised from the dead.

"– And just enjoy the festivity."

The nurse examined the bottle and looked for a different one. "What are you girls gonna dress up as?"

Linda's moved her lips but no sound came out.

"Witches?"

Sharon's lips moved but no sound came out.

"Vampires, maybe?"

The nurse didn't seem to notice.

"A-ha, here it is."

Now she noticed.

"Hm? Sharon, what is it? What's happening?"

Linda rose up on the bed as if standing on her knees. There was no noise save for the muffled sound of the blanket as it slid down Linda's legs –

The door burst open. So loud the nurse flinched and Sharon stood to attention. It was that girl who was creeping around last night, that sulky girl, who wouldn't even say Hello.

She switched flawlessly to Japanese. "You . . ."

Her hand strayed to her holster.

They could almost hear the conductor's voice:

_An' a -one –_

_Two –_

_Three –_

_Four!_

The music was blaring, wonderful dancing music from shining gold-plated instruments delicately engraved with seals; they played joyfully, pouring their hearts through their lips and down their saxophones. They heard it reverberate round the concert hall, swirl down the corridors, dance through the doors and even into the infirmary where Saya ran towards the girl in bed as her braids waved behind her, Sharon backed off in a single step and the nurse hadn't prepared herself for all to come.

The last look on Linda's face was one of unexpected surprise.

Her sword scraped as she pulled it out of the case, Saya's shirt riding up as he held it aloft with both hands, shoes tapping, and with a snarl on her face brought it slicing through Linda's shoulder all the down through her belly.

Linda flopped like a fish as hot blood leapt and squished onto the screen. Saya's back arched with the effort.

Martha's own screams drowned out and squishy noises the young girl's body might have produced.

Roughly – the sword sank deep – Saya wriggled out the sword that should have cut her clean in half; it came out with a sickening jerk hard enough to knock the pumpkin off the table. It rolled and landed on it stem; Sharon looked on edge but no cry came from her mouth. Martha's breath sobbed with fear.

The girl was waving her sword, pulling it back, aiming it –

The nurse realized with stabbing cries that she was going after her.

A piercing shriek rose behind her arm waiting to defend her, no effort to tackle, or hit, or somehow disable the girl with –

That horrible noise, that horrible irritating scraping noise. Saya hit her face hard enough to fall heavily against the wall, get her out the way; Sharon stood with nerve and a placid face that turned into a smirk. The glass smashed

Saya struck too slowly, that medicine cabinet, the one Sharon miscalculated as she threw it down in front of her attacker, knocking the end off her blade with a clang and sent it swirling through the air. Sharon, as she sent the closet crashing to the ground, had only her shoulder lacerated. She grimaced and staggered, collapsing against the wall as the blood spurted.

Music vanished only to be replaced by thuds of heartbeats and cold adrenaline. Sharon returned the snarl to her assailant.

Saya noticed the broken tip of her sword and prepare to lunge – Martha clasped her hands over her ears, screaming wildly, but not enough to cloud the bellowing.

The as-of-yet silent girl, who didn't ask who the girl was, who didn't make a noise when her friend was cut down, who didn't even try to get away, released a screeching roar: her eyes bulged with sound, her chin wrinkled to open her jaws as wide they would go and her gums turned red – a roar so terrible it blew out the lights. They shattered and spat like ice, glass cracked and threw itself in shards.

She raced to the door, arm as limp as the body on the bed, and scurried out the door on swift feet, Saya missed her chance.

"Shit!"

That horrible noise was still there, one she heard every time. She had to stop it before going after it. Martha shook her head, confused and scared and still screaming. That's where it was coming from.

"Oi."

The nurse sobbed hysterically.

"Oi!"

"No!"

Saya slapped her with her own hand. She was trying to avoid her gaze. She grabbed the silly woman like the grabbed that black man.

"Listen to me."

The nurse was forced to look into the cold steel eyes by the fingers that clenched into her fleshy cheeks. They shone in the darkness.

"Listen; just forget what you just saw."

Saya left marks on the face of the trembling matron. The corner of her lens had cracked.

Quietly, saying picked up the piece of her broken weapon, it made a tiny scraping noise, calmly walked over the metal back of the cupboard, and without rush, walked out the door.

Martha stood alone in the dark room. She could hear the music and cheering again.

Less than a minute ago it had been light and clean, and two young girls had been sitting quietly in sickbay. The remaining bulbs hung on the light like vertebra. She looked lost and saddened.

Her legs were trembling.

Glass slithers lay on the floor like snow. Her hair was a mess, shudders hung in her throat.

"Why . . . what is this . . . you are . . ."

He rubbed her temples and tried to make sense of the situation. Now the carefully-arranged bottles were smashed, leaking their contents, and the chill wind was blowing in. She almost wept. There was blood on the walls.

"Linda wasn't feeling well. She was just sleeping . . ."

It seemed to bring her out of her delirium, that poor little girl was still there. Linda lay there still on the bed.

"Linda . . . Linda . . ."

She turned towards the bed under that shattered window, her hands held up tight in compassion, her voice almost questioning.

Blood still gushed in slow rhythm. It dripped.

Martha made a small disgusted noise and held up her arm – it didn't work against that girl – urging herself to look at the carnage that was once a girl old before her time.

She was even more disgusted by the remains, the translucent skin, the blacken threads of veins, the chunky flesh, the nails . . . blood was still dripping from one nail.

Her look of pity changed to cautious unease, a mix of curiosity and fear. She drew her face away, just the tiniest amount.

She couldn't jump it – Saya raced towards the fence, sword in mouth and scrambled up the wires. The bards at the top won't matter.

When Martha is scared she grits her teeth and claws her face. She was trembling right now. It wasn't Linda.

"What? What is this?"

The skin, the face, the teeth, the ears . . .

"Linda . . ."

Did she –

"Sharon!" she stared and tried to back away as she would from a poisonous serpent, her hands clutched to her heart and pleading towards the door. "Sharon!"

A flower-shaped bloodstain stood by the open door. Droplets trailed out of room 126 down the corridor. Through her own heavy breath she tried to hear herself think.

A hulking figure masquerading as a young girl hauled itself down the empty shadowed halls, holding its damaged shoulder. It staggered towards the wall. Its arms were too big for its body.

_Halloween Party, Halloween Party, Halloween Party. . . _

Its breath was rasping. It stumbled against the big poster, gripping onto one of the witches hat's, and with a single rip tore it off the wall.

There was something wrong with its face, so horribly wrong. Where were its lips? Shrunken away to reveal several pointed teeth held by livid gums, its eyes were too big, too far apart, barely in their sockets, and its nose and all but vanished. Its skin was taunt and stretched like a mummified corpse and when it roared – how loudly it roared – it seemed to be pulling its mouth back over its jaws.

It sounded like the shriek of the Devil.

Elsewhere deep in the red light district, the hookers had taken up their spots for the evening. Many of the men ignored them, even the pretty ones. A lot of the sickly-pink neon lights at CluB Mabi were blinking.

Those that didn't ignore the girls of the night were inside, buying them drinks, letting them whisper in their ears, letting them laugh and smoke and smile.

The fag queen was inside, listening intensely. It would pass over human ears, even the ears of a prostitute always on her guard, even if the noise blew out the windows and shattered the lights. She was dressed in her kimono, wearing her earrings and lipstick and frown. Her hair was tied up tight, but it couldn't take away the wrinkles that appeared between her eyes when she stared at nothing, like Sharon and Linda and Saya.

The music was cheesy. The walls had a cracked-stone design, and the lights made all the bottles in the bar shine from every angle.

"Hey Mama-san, where's my beer?" Asked a drunk little fat man with a comb-over, waving his glass. He had glasses and a moustache too. His friend wasn't much better.

She turned robotically, looking over their heads into the distance. "Oh. I'm sorry." She politely served them their beers, said something in Japanese and lifted the bar door to leave. Everything inside was an unpleasant mix of tones – purple and orange, the colour of grease and bright lights from the slots machines, smog drifting from cigarettes.

In the alley behind all the colour has faded, washed away. Wood and wires and gas cylinders all had the same shade of dirty grey, like the stack of newspapers. She had a bottle in her hand.

She let the door close behind her. In this light it was hard to see the colour of her dress, it had flowers and a large blue band round her middle. There was a stiffness about her, her casual tone and body lost from that night of the suicide.

She turned a perfect 90 degrees and poured alcohol onto the stack of newspapers against the wall. It glugged and slopped itself in thick ropes between the wires and crates of beer. Her hand rose and fell gradually. On the walls there were switches and fuse boxes and thick white cables. The only sound was the patter of liquid and the gentle clink of an empty glass. It didn't break. It didn't make too much noise.

From inside her brace she took out a cigarette lighter and flicked on a flame. Then she threw it onto the paper.

The orange glow was brighter than that in the bar. It lit up the walls, the door, could bee seen from the other alleyways. She stood there, quite calmly. It crackled a little, and danced slightly.

Her face, when lit from the bottom, seems like a statue. She wore her mascara, her green eye shadow, her blush, but lost her scowl. She wore no expression. Smoke surrounded her again. The cackle became a deep growl.

She turned away with a stern expression, not back into the bar.

Her hair came down, but she didn't untie it.

Her flat mouth grew wider, though she wasn't saying anything.

Her eyes parted.

It's eyes glow red.

It's hair is turning grey and flows like tentacles.

Its' ears grow longer.

It's lips are missing. It's mouth draws back.

It opens it's mouth.

And when it opens it's mouth, still wearing the kimono with flowers, still wearing it's earrings, it's teeth grow long and sharp, and it's hair waves and dances like the flames of the fire, and it's voice turns from a deep growl into a breathing hiss. It looks like a corpse.

What passes over human ears made Saya, running across the roar, stop in front of cars that have to blow their horns and swerve to avoid her. Another passes behind her.

Unblinded by the headlights and unabashed by the angry horns, she could still hear them. She turned, looking behind her with a determines air. The tendons in her neck bulged, pursing her lips. Tyres screeched – they nearly hit each other.

Trails of sweat beaded down his forehead. Even his eyes widened. "I don't believe it. There's actually three of them!"

Her tore off the headphones, fingers nervous to grip something, feel his veins swell in his wrist. "Turn left here!" he said, grabbing Lewis' shoulder. Lewis managed to keep his eyes on the road.

"Aren't they at the base?"

"There's the other one!"

The image on the green radar flashed wildly, spinning and shrinking.

"Oh what?"

David scrutinized the map. "It's all over if we lose this one, hurry!"

Lewis threw his foot down on the pedal and the van sped past all other traffic, weaving into the fast lane.

The sword had one last use, Saya used it to break open the chain. It rattled and flung itself off the railings like an injured animal.

Without difficulty she drew the protecting grid back and opened the door. In the gloom she could still see it, by the gramophone.

NOT FOR SALE. They shone beautifully at night.

She lifted her arm and with the butt of the handle smashed the glass casing. Light flashed off the broken shards and without even cutting her hand or setting off an alarm she grabbed the sword, label still clinging onto the bindings. She was gone within seconds.

_Long chapter, eh? Who cares – finally Blood lives up to its name!_

_Please tell me what you think of the action scenes. They look goooood on screen, crap on paper . . . _

_Please R&R_


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